Fallout: Ronto
by The Freewriter
Summary: Have you ever wondered what happened to Canada after the Great War? Meet Richard Pixley, a young American boy living his new life as a mercenary tied between the warring factions fighting for the control of the Golden Horseshoe. Rate M for Mature. Reviews are greatly appreciated
1. Chapter 1

I do not own the Fallout Universe.

* * *

-Intro-

There was only darkness. 'Where am I?' he thought. He dared not to utter a single word, for the wall of darkness had every inch of danger in it. His eyes searched wildly for an answer. He tried shutting his eyes and then opening them wide several times to make sure they were not actually close. Bit by bit, the brittle pieces of concrete continued pounding the floor as they fell. A thunderous rumble from the crash filled the space. He had to leave, wherever he was.

The heavy beating drums of his heart muffled the echoing crash. His throat itched from the dust-filled air, ended up coughing horribly to expel the irritation. Warm sweat drenched all over his body. He shifted his back uncomfortably on the hill of rubble. The rumble slowly echoed away like a growingly distant thunder.

As he sat up, a painful sensation weighed on his right shoulder. He held his breath and inspected any injuries. There was neither sharp pain nor an open flesh wound. Regardless of it being dislocated or broken, he sighed in relief that he could still feel the grip of his rifle. He shuffled his legs, an attempt he regretted on doing when he felt an unbearable agony. He hadn't anticipated that his departure would be postponed due to this injury.

He had to make a choice: get out of the building with injured legs or wait until someone finds him. He chose the former. Staying in the building meant certain death. He leaned forward and clumsily slid down the hill. He landed face first onto the carpeted floor. A groan escaped from his breath as the pain on his shoulder as well as his legs were too difficult to persist. Nevertheless, his hand-held firmly to his rifle. He extended his left arm and swept off any obstacle that may be on his way, as he patiently dragged himself across the dark, unknown space.

His pitiful journey ended when he bumped onto something hollow. He felt around it as best as he could. There were handles for drawers. On top, there were noticeable dents, and it was rusty due to age and lack of care, but other than that, it was flat. He held onto the edge and pulled himself up into an upright sitting position behind the desk. The metal desk grated as he leaned onto it, shortly resuming the echo that the rumble had left.

The desk made him feel quite secure. A few moments passed, his heart slowed to a steady beating pace. His breathing slowed, he scrounged in his left pant pocket and took out the silver locket. He felt the rough indentations, and the cracks. He held it firmly and prayed for God to guard him and lead him out of danger.

His lips were moving on their own as he prayed but his thoughts were elsewhere. He kept cursing himself for being a coward. He wished that he had seen it before it happened. All this self-infliction of regret, he also knew that they are prepared for the job. They knew the potential dangers that lurked within these walls. His comrades were cautious, and trained. Yet, he messed up, turning this simple job into a nightmare.

* * *

War, war never changes. In 1945, the United States dropped their atomic bombs on Japan, ending the Second World War. This was the first publicized atomic bomb in history, causing an international fervour for nuclear development, generally abandoning the research for transistors. This led to the mass production of nuclear powered vehicles, computers, batteries and many others. People were so content with their lives that social trends froze for more than a hundred years. This nuclear research also led to advances in artificial intelligence, and robotics. Mister Handies, Robo-Brains, and Protectrons were the few examples of robots that function to ease daily human life. However, nuclear tension exploded to an impending war.

Due to the lack of transistors, ineffective and bulky computers and appliances were costly to develop. Manufacturers required more oil to lubricate machinery, and energy intake to produce an item. World oil resources rapidly dwindled to almost nothing. Inflation went up causing several markets to crash. United Nations disbanded as European nations began to wage war for the last of the oil reserves.

In 2067, Canada was forcibly annexed by the over-populated, more powerful United States, shortly after the discovery of the Canadian oil sands. Most Canadians were violently against this. Public revolts raged on the streets of Toronto. Urban guerrilla fighters harassed the American garrisons for years. Nuclear tension rose. This tension gave the opportunity for was a growing private corporation named Vault-Tec to monopolize on bomb shelters, called Vaults.

In 2077, the Great War began. Nuclear missiles filled the skies, and set the world on fire. The war lasted for two hours. No one knew who started the war, in the end, no one cared.


	2. Chapter 2

I DO NOT OWN FALLOUT

* * *

-1-

Lark squinted as the glare of the Sun reflected from his locket pestered his eyes. He stuffed the locket back in and looked up to the cloudless sky. He cursed the searing heat of the Sun as he trudged across the sun-baked desert of that was The Great Lake Ontario. He could hear the hooves clattered onto dry, cracked ground. A somber wind came by, fluttering his loose robes. He lightly coughed from the dust it carried, reminded him to tighten up his mask. His tired brown eyes hid behind the shadow of his hood.

Lark wasn't alone. Behind him were a couple of other armed guards. The first one was driving the Brahmin-drawn cart and the other was protecting the rear. The mutated cow was slightly frightened by the rare sensation of the wind. The driver clicked his tongue and lightly tapped her burnt-red hide to refocus her attention.

After the Great War, several species, particularly animals, were able to strive in the nuclear fallout. Dogs, bears, and lizards to name a few, but paid a terrible price of mutation. Livestock cows suffered a change in their skin from brown or inkblot into red as an open flesh. Most of them grew another functional and conscious head. Only a lucky few were able to keep one. Cows and bulls became indistinguishable both in appearance and in reproductive function, altering them into a completely different species. These mutated species identified as Brahmins, a misconception of names between a multi-faced Hindu God and a social class. Ever since the mutation, these Brahmins exhibit violent behaviour when agitated or harmed. A tamed or domesticated one said to pose less of a problem than a wild one.

Several sacks of mail stored just behind the driver. There were a couple of men and women and a young sickly girl onboard as passengers. They were exhausted, fleeing from their dark past. All were clinging to hope for the much more promising future.

The red-haired boy stared blankly on his father's bag of tools on his lap, while his parents were fast asleep beside him. He was a lean, muscular young fellow. His thick, dull looking hands held absent-mindedly on the bag. He couldn't help but to reminisce the day he had to leave the only world he knew for the first time.

Their home that hid deep within the forest, south from where they were going. It was supposedly to be a safe haven, isolated from the horrors of the post-war world. It was mainly built out of wood lashed together by pre-war ropes and nails. Portals, such as doors and windows, and most of the furniture were scavenged from abandoned homes in a deserted town near the forest. It was a ragged home at best, but it was a simple home nonetheless.

His parents lived most of their lives on the run. As far as they knew, their families never stayed in one place for generations. Both faced most, if not all, the unimaginable terrors the world had shown them. When they found the forest, they decided to settle down. His parents built it with their own hands. They raised their son for many years in that house, and would've been many more. However, all of their hard work, hopes, and dreams were ruined.

The father and son were out in the forest, cutting and gathering some firewood while the wife stayed for her own duties at home. When the men came back, they were dumbfounded. The boy and the man couldn't believe of what they saw. Their house, their haven was trashed, vandalized. The door was ripped open from its hinges and laid just inches in front of them. The window shutters were hanging from its sills.

They felt a sudden chill crawled on their skin. The boy's face was pale and his knuckles were white as he pulled out his revolver. His forehead perfused in cold sweat. His eyes were trembling in fear. He held his breath, and bit his lip, ignoring his fright with pain, as he turned his head to his father. He gave a slight nod that he was ready. The father nodded back but he was as fearful as his son was. The hammer cocked as the father took the revolver out of its holster.

They briskly walked into the house and found something worse than death. None of the possessions were gone but most were broken into irreparable pieces. There was no blood spilled. The boy remembered what his father told him about situations like this. '_It can't be_,' he thought.

He was about to freeze into place until his father broke his trance with a cry, "Anna!" he exclaimed. "Anna, where are you?" There was no response. His father's voice choked, refusing to give in to the tearful reaction. He denied that his mother has been taken away.

He went ahead and searched in the kitchen. His eyes averted consistently trying to find his mom. He looked under the counters, the table, inside the closet. Anna wasn't there. He continued to deny her disappearance. '_She couldn't be. She just can't - no! No!'_ his head shook frantically to wave away such a horrible conclusion. He was breaking down, until a scream from outside deafened his ears.

Anna gaped at the sight of the house. The woman was carrying a basket full of fresh wild fruit she foraged from the forest while the men went out. When she came back, the house was in a brink of collapse. Suddenly, her mind went blank. Then all she heard were the muffled voices of her husband. His voice became clearer and clearer as her world was shaken left and right.

"Anna." Her husband said, as calm yet solemn as he could be. His hands held firmly on his wife's deadened shoulders "We have to get out of here." As her world became clearer, the first things she saw was a pair of her husband's blue eyes. His voice became stern and immediate. "We have to leave, you hear me? They WILL come back." Anna caught onto his words. Her drenched eyes were finally focused onto his. "Anna, we need to pack up and leave. Go fetch our clothes and necessities and meet us here. I'll carry the basket; we need to trade this for a passage up north to Canada." He said. Anna quickly rubbed her eyes, nodded and left.

The man looked back to his son. "Son, go get my tools and grandfather's rifle and munitions under the floorboards in the living room, and pack some of your things as well."

"But Dad," the boy protested. "It could just be some a wild boar, a deer, or even a mad Brahmin!"

"Son, do you actually think that a wild animal threw out our door fifty feet from our house?!" Although the man was trying to be calm and collected as he could be, his father's face was red as his hair. His veins were bulging out of his neck and forehead.

"Or it could be just one!" the boy protested. "If it's just a straggler, we can take it!"

"Do you really want to wait and find out?"

"But Dad," The son clenched his fist, "this is our home."

The father knew that further engaging into the argument would only make things worse, for all of them. "Son, go with us or die. Your mother and I are still young enough to have another child." His eyes were cold, and serious. His bluff was completely hidden. The boy was about to retaliate, but he backed off. He bought his father's bluff and went inside.

Almost every night, his father always talked about these abominations in his stories. They were called Super Mutants. Their skin was yellow as puss. Muscles and veins were so engorged that their skin breaks into scars. They had no brow, nor hair. Their deflated lips were stretched to their sunken nose. Most Super Mutants were at least seven feet tall. The bigger they are, the worse they could become. Not only these monstrosities exhibit super-human strength, vitality and endurance, but also could organize into packs and could grow into a brutal army.

Super Mutants had no desire for wealth. They only wanted death and destruction. They were reported that they capture humans alive for food. Survivors witnessed their own friends being eaten alive by these abominations. The monsters were said to find joy at their torment. To eat for pleasure and delight from other's pain was unimaginable for the boy. That was the reason why both him and his father were breathless at the sight of their home. Men would've stolen all their possessions while they're away. A Super Mutant aimed for a more sinister purpose, and it would not be thievery.

They departed from the forest at noon. The son looked back at it one last time, to say farewell to the only world he ever knew. They journeyed northwest of the forest to Oswego, a small little town that grown prosperously from Canadian trade. Oswego became one of the few settlements unharmed by the bombs.

For years, most of the town was left unscathed from vandalism and theft, therefore little improvement was needed to restore and protect it. There were rings of walls and a forest of towers surrounded the town with every guard within twenty feet guarding their post.

Searchlights, powered by recycled nuclear fission batteries, were attached to every wall like jewels on concrete crown. The exterior was very bleak and grey. Years of bandit raids, and the occasional contacts with Super Mutants had transformed this small town into a fortress.

At the entrance, they were searched several times through each ring until they arrived to the idyllic, and colourful 1950's trading utopia. Renovated homes were left and right. Fresh greenery sprung on lawns and in-between roads.

Oswego was a busy place. People were all over the place in their nostalgic 1950's fashion sense with checkered vests and poodle skirts layered with simple designs and colours. At a distance, sound of trumpets, saxophones, drums and other instruments played upbeat swing from a vinyl player, entertaining the populace.

Although, the engines, and batteries were stripped off, the cars had been refurbished and parked on each of the houses waiting for their owners to drive them. Brahmin-drawn carts filled with tools, weapons, and armour drove forth on the paved road to the edge of town where the shore of Great Lake Ontario was.

Carts with bushels of food came from the shore, distributing door-to-door on each residence. The Oswego bazaar and port were also by the shore connected to the Canadian town, East Lakon. The family headed straight for the port and asked a porter holding a clipboard to hitch a ride with the earliest caravan to East Lakon in exchanged for the basket of fresh, wild fruits.

The kind-hearted porter insisted to be paid in one third. The fruits were too valuable for him to keep. "Besides," the porter said, waving his hands in refusal. "You would need it more than I do on the other side. Aren't you guys starting a new life there? Perhaps, these fruits would give you a head start." The family humbly bowed their thanks and was about to walk away to find a place to wait, but the porter asked to stop for a moment. "Wait, I need to list your names so I could do some security check. Just write your names here." He held out the clipboard and a poorly sharpened pencil to them. The family wrote down their names, handed back the clipboard and pencil and found a bench just across the porter.

The bazaar was bustling with people. There were so many people that the family could barely see the porter. To the left of the porter, there were stalls displaying a variety of items. To his right were temporary tents for mercenary agencies and pleasure services all along the Oswego beach.

The boy couldn't sit still. He had an urge to know more the world through his own eyes. His father was simply watching the crowd going here and there through the market as his tired wife's head resting on his shoulder. He turned to look at his son and saw his anticipation to explore.

"Hey, why don't you take a look?" his father said.

"What? Oh, I can't do that, Dad." The boy replied shaking his head. "I can't afford losing you or losing me in the crowd." The boy continued. "Besides, there is nothing interesting to see."

The father knew his boy was lying through his teeth but smiled at his childish look. "You're almost old enough to be a grown man. You outta know how the world works eventually. Go ahead and take a look, but make sure you're either close to the porter or where I can see you."

The boy was about to oppose, but ended up gaping his mouth. He shut it and smiled. He was grateful to have wonderful parents. "Thanks, Dad." He stood up and waved his father good-bye as he went to the bazaar.

There were so many different kinds of things that the stalls were selling that he didn't even know existed. There were canned, boxed, plastic bag of goods on the food stall. Not far from the food stall was a pharmacy. Several drugs were made from giant queen ant pheromones, irradiated hallucinogenic herbs, and bloat fly puss. The ever so curious boy went to the weapons stall that was bustling with customers. Guns, knives, and brass knuckles were openly displayed on the counter.

Although amazed by different weapons of death, the stall beside it blew him away. Highly advanced firearms were on a stall alongside the gun stall. Each firearm had very acute geometric shapes. Wires, tesla coils, heat capacitors, fission batteries and other were rigged into each gun. The stall had fewer customers than their conventional counterpart. The vendor's elitist meander, however, proved that his products were not meant for everyone. The boy was scrutinizing a box-shape gun when something was pulling his shirt harder and harder.

The boy was astonished when he saw a sick young girl almost half of his height. Her amber skin was peeling off. Her scleras were nauseating yellow. She had only few strands of her dirty-blonde hair on her head. She was holding an old, tarnished doll of a blonde-haired boy wearing a blue jumpsuit with yellow trims. "Vault-Boy" was imprinted in white on the back of the doll.

The boy swallowed up his fear and disgust. He smiled crookedly at the girl. "Mister," the girl said. "Can you help me find my Mom?" The boy was having a difficult time processing the situation, "Uhm, ok." To judge them discriminately for their condition is not appropriate, but he couldn't help but to stand amazed by the disturbing sight. He shook his head out of his trance and made a crooked grin. He held out of his hand and kindly took her out of the bustling crowd of the bazaar into the middle of the avenue.

He thought of staying in a less crowded space would help them stand out. Time seemed to slow down as he stood by the girl awkwardly in silence. The girl sat on a concrete curb while the boy remained standing. She was preoccupied from her worries by playing with her doll. The teenage boy decided to spend some time on getting to know the young girl. He went and sat beside her. A tinge of disgust still bothered him at the back of his skull.

"So," The boy awkwardly tried to break the long silence between them. His hands were sweaty as he twiddled his thumbs on his lap. "Name's Richard by way."

"What's your name?"

"Amy," she replied quietly. The girl continued playing with her doll. There was another awkward silence grew between them for a moment.

"Uhm, uhh, where did you last see your mom?"

"I don't know, mister." The girl pursed her lips, and shook her head.

"How come?"

"Well, mister," the girl placed the doll onto her lap. She focused her attention to him. "I let go of her when we're squeezing through the bunch of people over there." She pointed to the bazaar in front of them.

Not knowing what else to talk about, the boy looked at her doll and continued the idle conversation, "That doll, where did you get it?"

"Mommy gave it to me. She said it's her special doll."

"I bet she gave it to you 'cause you're special to her too."

The girl caressed her doll, blushing. "You really think so?"

The sick girl's doubt to her mother crossed the boy's mind. 'Did her mother left her on purpose?' He believed that no mother hate her child. "Yep, I really think so." He rubbed the crown of her head. He looked at his hand. There were loose strands of her hair and dandruff on it. The girl continued to stare at her doll as the boy stealthily rubbed his hands on his pants.

"I always think she hates me." The girl said. "People stay away from me and I think Mommy want to stay away from me too."

"I didn't stay away from you, did I? I'm sure your mom didn't stay for nothing." the boy started to ponder the girl's age. The girl solemnly nodded. 'She was being extremely insecure for her age,' the boy thought. He couldn't really blame her. She must have faced strong prejudice and was ostracized for her condition. Her mom may have loathed bearing the burden for her daughter, if she ever hated it. The boy felt he had to say something. "Look," he said looking deeply into her eyes. "Your mom loves you, okay?"

"Okay." Her voice was quiet as a mouse. She raised her head towards the bazaar. Her eyes grew wide as she abruptly stood up, frozen in surprise.

The sun was starting to set when the boy saw a young woman with dark brown locks rushed out of the crowded bazaar. Her teary, seductive blue eyes entranced him as she ran towards him. Questions started to pop into of his mind, '_Who is she? Do I know her? Does she know me? Why is she running towards me?_' The boy froze, thinking of not knowing what to do as the young maiden quickly approached him. The woman ran passed by him to the sickly girl and hugged her tight. Joyful tears were flowing down her smooth tanned cheeks.


End file.
